


Hell's Bells

by cptnfrddy



Series: Highway To Hell [1]
Category: Inception (2010), Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:21:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptnfrddy/pseuds/cptnfrddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I want to make a deal,” he says, clenching his hands into fists to stop them from shaking</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell's Bells

She is bathed in the flickering light from the surrounding street lamps. It looks fairly like a halo.

He snorts at the irony.

A restless wind sifts through her thick black locks and she raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. “You rang?” her melodic tone is laced with amusement and undertones of something more sinister.

He takes a steadying breath. Now is not the time to show weakness. “I want to make a deal,” he says, clenching his hands into fists to stop them from shaking

She steps forward, her movements fluid beneath the form-fitting black dress. Her lips turn up into a knowing smirk, though her head tilts as if questioning. “And what could you possibly offer me?” she asks.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

Arthur is leaning against the side of their latest warehouse. He inhales from the cigarette between his lips and then exhales slowly, tapping off the excess ash.

“Careful, pet,” Eames murmurs, coming up beside him. He plucks the cigarette from Arthur’s lax fingers and takes a drag himself. “These things will shave years off your life.”

Arthur stares at him a moment. Then laughs. A shaky, choked-off chortle that ends in a cough. He is a mess with his rumpled tailored suit, five o’clock shadow, and darkening bags under his eyes.

Eames’ perceptive eyes take all of this in and Arthur shifts uncomfortably, taking back his cigarette. “Okay there?” Eames asks

Arthur nods, though the tremble in his hand as he takes his next drag gives him away. “Today’s my thirtieth birthday.”

Eames lifts an eyebrow in surprise. “Well, is it now? You should have told me sooner, kitten. I would've brought you a present,” he tells him, grinning obscenely.

Arthur snorts, throwing the cigarette to the ground and stepping on it. He begins walking back into the warehouse when Eames reaches out and catches his arm.

“What do you want for your birthday?” he asks, lightly stroking the soft skin beneath Arthur’s shirt cuff with his thumb.

Arthur gives Eames a slight smile, breaking his gentle grip on his wrist. “I want this job to go well.”

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

He takes a ragged breath, “My soul.”

She licks her lips in a way that could have been described seductive in any other circumstance. “I’m listening,” she purrs. 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

They are prepping the warehouse, waiting for Cobb and Yusuf to return with the mark. Arthur stands near the windows, lining the sills with the powder from the pouch in his hands.

Eames comes up behind him, picking up some of the black powder and rubbing it between his fingertips. “And this would be?”

Arthur growls and slaps Eames’ hands away. He pours more in the section that Eames has disturbed. “It’s called goofer dust.”

“Isn’t that hoodoo?” Eames laughingly asks, wiping his dirty fingers on his trousers. 

“It keeps out evil,” Arthur distractedly replies.

Eames brow furrows in confusion, but his smirk remains in place. “I didn’t know you were superstitious.”

“You don’t know a lot about me,” Arthur murmurs. Cobb and Yusuf burst in with their unconscious mark before Eames can respond to that.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

“Ten years,” he states, his voice breaks momentarily as the weight of what he is doing finally hits. He clears his throat, pushing those dangerous thoughts back down. “You can take my soul in ten years.”

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

They all momentarily stop when they hear the howl.

“What is that?” Ariadne asks, eyes darting up and down the street.

Arthur stiffens, but continues shooting at the projections.

Cobb shrugs, determined and focused. “I don’t know, but we keep on moving.” He glances at Arthur and Eames. “You two stay here, keep them from following us. “ Then he and Ariadne run towards the large library behind them.

The projections keep advancing and they keep shooting them back. Arthur ignores the almost constant howling and Eames silently follows his lead. 

They finally get a respite from the barrage of projections. But not the howling.

“It’s getting closer,” Eames states, leaning against the car that is their momentary refuge.

“Yes” Arthur agrees

“What is it, you think? Part of the subconscious?” 

Arthur focuses on his gun, counting the number of bullets left. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It bloody hell does! Is it a projection or not? What does it want?” Eames snarls, careful not to raise his voice and disturb the now silent projections.

“Me,” Arthur murmurs, a hard glint in his eyes. “They're here because I made a stupid mistake a long time ago.” Arthur stands, lifting his gun. “But they’ll be gone soon.”

Eames stands too. “Arthur,” he growls, frustrated.

Arthur smiles, dimples showing. He leans in placing a soft kiss on Eames’ lips. “I shall lead them on a merry chase, Mr. Eames,” he whispers as he pulls back.

Eames stares at him in confusion. “What…” Before he could finish his thought, Arthur was crumpled on the ground, with wide, unseeing eyes and a neat, little hole in the middle of his forehead. 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

“My soul for his,” he demands, palming the familiar weight of his totem in his pocket.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

Eames shoots up from his chair and quickly pulls the line of the PASIV out of his arm. Ariadne and Cobb are still relaxed in sleep, but the lawn chair nearest to him is empty

Eames looks up and sees Yusuf staring at him, “Where’s Arthur?”

“He just left.” Yusuf pointed towards the open warehouse door. “What’s happening?” he calls as Eames runs out the same door. Eames sees the line of broken goofer dust and races into the cold night air.

Eames glances around frantically until he hears a rustle in the alley next to the warehouse. He runs towards it and finds him.

Arthur’s clothes are ripped to shreds. He is ripped to…

Eames cuts that thought off and closes his eyes, feeling the wet trails rolling down his cheeks. Then he hears the weak cough.

In an instant, he is on his knees beside Arthur. His hands hover uselessly over the mangled body, trying to find a spot to place them that won’t cause the other man significant pain.

One eye cracks open and Eames can see only a slit of the coffee brown he loves to stare into.

“E’ms,” he barely hears whispered.

Eames nods, carefully placing his hand over Arthur’s. “I’m here love. We’re going to get you help, yeah? You’re going to be fine,” he babbles, getting louder as the volume of Arthur’s rattling breathing increases.

Then it stops.

Arthur just… stops

On some level, Eames registers Ariadne coming up behind him and a tearful Cobb pulling her resisting, sobbing body back.

But he can focus on nothing but the body he rocks in his arms as the roaring in his ears blocks out their words and his own roars of anguish.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

As long as Eames had known him, Arthur carried around that ridiculous moleskin notebook of his everywhere he went.

He was meticulous about it, scribbling down incredibly detailed notes on everything. 

Apparently, even on the details of his own damnation.

Eames is eternally grateful.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

She watches him a moment, and then slowly shakes her head. “Arthur sealed his fate ten years ago,” the demon states. “I can’t break his contract.”

Eames tightens his fist around his poker chip. His heart clenches in disbelief and he suddenly can’t swallow past the mound in his throat. The night the hellhounds came flashes behind his eyelids and he has to mentally shake his head to shove them away. “I can’t leave him in hell,” he manages to choke out.

“Well,” she singsongs, a mocking glint in her eyes. “I can… possibly… reunite you two lovebirds.”

“How?” he croaks, staring at her as she moves closer.

“Ten years here, up top.” She is right next to him now, her hand trailing up and down his arm. “And then the rest of eternity in the pit. Together.”

He only catches a glimpse of her blood-red eyes for a moment before she is leaning in close, brushing her lips against his ear. “What do you say, darling?


End file.
